


No Work, No Games

by mcschnuggles



Series: The Phantom Fae [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Fae, CGRE - Caregiver/Age Regressor, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Regressing!Akira, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles
Summary: Akira is sick.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira & Everyone
Series: The Phantom Fae [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194497
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	No Work, No Games

Akira wakes up feeling like garbage.

He had a feeling it might be a rough day when he went to bed early, but he had no idea it had been the signs of an oncoming illness.

He’s too nauseous to get out of bed and half-dizzy with a fever. The attic space he lives in is small but organized, meaning that what little medicine he has on hand is on the other side of the room.

He can’t open the café today. Not when he’s already feeling so sick. Not when he can’t even get out of _bed_.

Akira checks his phone, making note of the time. Even though he opens up early, he usually doesn’t see any customers until a few hours later. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep a while longer and pray he feels better when he wakes up.

A tap against his window. Another.

Akira rolls over, ignoring the way his stomach turns, away from the source of his noise, but that only makes it louder and more insistent. But even the intrusive sound isn’t enough to keep him up, and as he fades back out, he hears the sound of his window opening.

He wants to be scared. After all, it’s someone breaking and entering. But he has a feeling he knows who it is without even opening his eyes. And if it were a burglar breaking in… well, the fae are nothing if not retaliatory.

He cracks open an eye to find Makoto staring down at him. Of all the fae, she and Ryuji stand out the least. In fact, the only indicator that she’s something inhuman is the fierce red glow of her eyes.

“You haven’t opened the café,” Makoto says simply. She doesn’t look annoyed, only confused. “You were supposed to open at seven.”

Akira suppresses a groan. Of course he’d forgotten to factor in the whims of his special clientele. And of all days for them to visit.

“Yeah.” It’s only after talking does he realize how his throat is thick with mucus. He’s probably dehydrated too. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of water right now… “I’m sick.”

Makoto’s face remains impassive. Akira can tell that much from the haziness that clouds his vision. “The High Queen would like a coffee.”

“I can’t make it. Because I’m sick.” Talking hurts. Holding his head up hurts. He just wants to go back to sleep. Akira nuzzles into the nest of blankets, only for a wave of sticky, unpleasant heat to roll over him.

Makoto tilts her head. Intelligent as she is, a lot of the mundane aspects of humanity fly over her head. “Sick?” She reaches out to touch his forehead, warm to the touch, and her eyes widen in understanding. “You’ve been wounded.”

That’s the closest he’s going to get, he supposes. Fae must not have common illnesses like humans have. They have the ability to inflict illnesses, especially on humans that poke into their business, but any illnesses specific to them never came up in Akira’s research. If only he had the strength to explain.

His eyes slip shut, sleep calling to him yet again.

Makoto combs her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. “Yes, little one, rest. Please. I will fetch the Queen.”

The next time he comes to, he hears voices from downstairs.

“Has he been poisoned?” That’s Haru’s voice. She and Ryuji must’ve been waiting outside. Either that, or he was unconscious for a lot longer than he thought, and Makoto had gone all the way back to the fae world to fetch them.

“No, I don’t think so,” Makoto answers. “His skin was burning when I touched it.”

“Should we call the archivist or somethin’?” Ryuji asks. “She might know what’s up.”

“Yes, please send for her,” Haru replies. “I’m going to see him.”

The High Queen ascends the stairs, effusing effortless, regal beauty. Out of all the fae, Haru is the one who stands out the most. Something about the softness of her features, the pale, almost lavender tint of her skin, just naturally draws people’s eyes. It’s hard for her to be out in public, with how much attention she draws, but that’s a risk she takes. For Akira’s coffee. For Akira.

“Hello, my little one,” she says softly. She doesn’t walk so much as she glides, falling into a graceful crouch at his bedside. “You say that you’re sick?”

Akira nods, unable to stop the whine that bubbles up from his throat. He can’t help it that he feels icky, and now that they’re here, he just wants his fae family to make it all better.

He always regresses when he’s sick. It was more of a problem when he was still in school. He can’t count the number of times Sojiro almost found out, let alone the number of close calls he’d had at school. It never was in his nature to take a sick day, but now he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Haru hums in sympathy. She places the back of her hand against his forehead, taking in the heat radiating from his skin. “Poor baby.”

Ryuji and Makoto follow after her, their faces pinched in worry. They’re fae bodyguards, capable of taking down the most dangerous threats to faerie kind, but one sick baby has them frozen in their tracks.

“I sent for the archivist,” Ryuji says.

“Hi, Ryu. Hi, Mako,” Akira croaks out. He swallows back the mounting pain in his throat with a grimace, but he didn’t say hi to Haru and he wants to prove that he remembers his good manners.

Ryuji’s gaze softens. “Hey, bud. We’re gonna fix you right up, okay? Anything you need.” 

“If only the baby would stay with us,” Makoto laments. “Surely these things wouldn’t happen.”

Akira whines, pulling back from Haru’s touch.

This game of cat and mouse where the fae try to trick him into leaving and he outsmarts them isn’t _fun_ when he’s sick like this. Now, it’s less about being clever and more about having his guard up, never able to feel safe or accept help when he so desperately needs it.

He should’ve known better than to think they wouldn’t try this when he’s sick. Maybe the surge of relief he felt when they first showed their concerns was misplaced, but either way, he doesn’t want to hear it. Childish as it may be, he wants to pull the covers up over his head and pretend Makoto isn’t saying anything.

But Makoto presses on undeterred. “I’m sure that the archivist would have a remedy, if we were to go—”

“No.” Haru’s voice is firm, unyielding. All it takes is one look at Makoto goes silent. “Little one, you have my word, we will not play these games today. Not when the playing field is so uneven.”

Makoto looks just as surprised as he feels. He never though he’d see the day where the _High Queen_ passed up an easy chance at winning her baby.

Haru lifts his head into her lap, and her skin is refreshingly cool against his fevered cheek. “The archivist will come to us, as will whoever chooses to accompany her.”

“What do you want?” he asks, only to be cut off by a cough. From the way the fae look on in worry, they must think he’s dying again.

He’s not foolish enough to think they’d care for him at no cost. Favors like this come with a price tag. “No games” is a nice promise, and while a fae is compelled to tell the truth, they don’t have to tell the whole truth. “No games” could easily just refer to no more goading him to visit the archivist. Trades were hardly off the table.

Haru leans back, her expression unreadable. “In exchange for caring for you, I would like a portrait,” Haru says finally. “One of you and me. Do you accept?”

A portrait? Doesn’t she have Yusuke for that exact purpose? It takes his brain a second to catch up to realize that she wants him to draw her a picture of the two of them, and that the price is so low that it can barely be considered an exchange.

Akira nods, and Haru smiles, clearly pleased. “Excellent. Now please, tell us what we can do to help.”

“Water.” The coughing fit has only left him more parched. And now that the matter of pricing is off the table, he’s more than happy to ask.

“On it.” Ryuji gives him a thumbs-up before trampling back down the stairs.

“Medicine too please. On the cabinet by the bench. Top shelf.”

Haru claps her hands together, and the sound alone helps Akira feel more at ease. She always does that to show he’s done a good job, whether it be by making a great cup of coffee or by making something pretty during arts and crafts with Yusuke. “Good manners, little one!”

Makoto and Ryuji return with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water respectively. Akira’s world tilts as he tries to sit up, but thankfully Haru helps hold him upright so he doesn’t choke.

The three of them watch him eagerly, pleased to be able to help so easily. He wonders, do they know that this will last a whole day, if not longer? Or do they think caring for his immediate needs will cure him in a matter of hours?

Akira wracks his brain to think of something else. “A cold washcloth. For my head.”

Haru lifts his head, replacing the comfort of her lap with a pillow. “I will handle this one.”

While she has everyone in the fae realm at her beck and call, she also has a fondness for doing things herself. Especially when it comes to Akira. He can still remember how proud of herself she was when she brought in a book on childcare.

But as she goes, Akira realizes that Makoto and Ryuji are watching him strangely. He blinks heavily, feeling exhaustion creeping back up on him. Do they want another task? Because at this point, he won’t say no to them cleaning up the café.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. He tries to sit up, but that, combined with talking, just spurs another coughing fit, and he slumps back over his pillow.

“Well…” Makoto trails off, a faint blush painting her cheeks. “The two of us are in eternal service to the Queen, meaning that any services we offer are an extension of her generosity and not ours, but…”

“Would you do our portraits too?” Ryuji interrupts.

Akira furrows his brow. His art isn’t that good, though. Nothing compared to Yusuke, who’s able to perfectly replicate everything he sees down to the finest detail—and that’s only what Akira has seen from quick sketches. He can only imagine how Yusuke’s works look with proper time and materials.

Still, he won’t say no.

“It’s a deal, if you get me some crackers and ginger ale.”

Makoto nods. From the way her jaw is set, she must think this is going to be some grand journey or impossible task. It’d probably be funny if he wasn’t so sick. “Of course. Where must we go to get these?”

“The convenience store,” Akira answers. “I should have some money in my wallet. Use that to pay for everything.”

Makoto nods, and while she looks ready to take on the mission, it’s Ryuji that volunteers to go first.

“You stay here and watch everyone,” he offers by way of explanation. It’s only after a moment that Akira remembers that he’s usually the one to scout out areas, meaning he’s more versed in slipping through heavily populated areas undetected. Even with her mostly human appearance, Makoto’s behavior makes her prone to stand out.

Haru catches him as he leaves, telling him to be careful, but he’s barely out the door before a familiar voice fills his absence.

“Have no fear, the archivist is here!” Futaba chirps. She comes bounding up the stairs with Haru in close pursuit, a sequin pillow tucked under her arm and a large tome under the other. “Let me see ’im!”

Haru giggles. “Thank you for joining us, archivist.” She pulls the covers from Akira’s shoulders, moving the obstruction from his face, and gently lowers a cool washcloth onto his forehead. The absence of the suffocating warmth is a relief, only to be replaced with a nagging cold a few seconds later.

Futaba’s eyes go wide. Good to know the novelty of a shiny new baby hasn’t been lost on her yet. “Hi, baby. I got something for you.” She holds out the pillow, grinning widely. “Look at how shiny it is!”

Akira knows better than to immediately accept something when it’s held out to him. More often than not, the gifts come with strings attached. Taba doesn’t know the new rules yet, but that’s okay because she’s the worst at trying to trick him anyway.

“No, no. This is a gift!” Futaba rushes to say. “It’s just to make you feel better; you don’t need to give me anything in return.”

Still Akira hesitates. That _sounds_ right, but he’d have to double check on the logistics of fae gifts just to be sure. Instead he looks to Haru. After all, she did give him her word.

She grins, nodding encouragingly. “Go ahead, little one. It’s all yours.”

Akira takes the pillow, holding it to his chest like he would a stuffed animal. Of course, he has a couple stuffies of his own, but he doesn’t bring them out often, so wanting them would mean a lot of digging through storage.

“Where did you get that?” Makoto asks.

“Found it,” Futaba responds simply. Now that her hands are free, she uses them to flip through the massive tome she brought. “I got everything I could on human illnesses. Now, let’s see what’s wrong.”

Haru takes her spot on the bed again, guiding his head back into her lap. It must be soothing for her to have him so near like this. And from the way Makoto is inching closer under the guise of checking the windows, she must feel the same way.

Futaba references the book in her arms, frowning. “Sweating, check.” She touches a hand to his forehead to confirm. “Fever, check. Is your throat sore?”

Akira nods.

“And you’ve been feeling nauseous?”

Again he nods.

“Congestion?”

Yup.

“And you feel achy?”

This time when he nods, Haru gasps.

“That’s so many symptoms! Has someone cursed him?”

“Humans get sick sometimes,” Futaba explains. “No one cursed him. There was probably just a bug going around.”

“What do we need to cure him?” Haru’s fingers card through his hair, and another chill prompts him to burrow back under his comforter.

“No cure, either. He just needs to get it out of his system. A lot of water and rest will go a long way, though.”

“Is that really all we can do?” Makoto asks.

“Not ‘all.’ Which is why I brought the healer just in case!”

The healer? Is this another one of the fae that Akira hasn’t met yet? He knows a good number of them—non-royals especially, since it’s easier for them to blend in—come into the café constantly, but no others have formally introduced themselves yet.

Akira forces his eyes open to see Ann lingering by the stairs. Instead of her usual backpack, she has a faded leather satchel decorated in flowers, and Morgana is resting on her shoulder.

If it weren’t for her print tee and trendy shoes, nothing about her would look remotely human.

Come to think of it, Ann is almost always around, so there’s no reason for anyone to refer to her in the third person. Is that her position in the court, to act as a healer?

“Will that work?” Haru asks. “If he is not hurt but simply ailing?”

“I can do something for the pain,” Ann says. Her eyes cut to Makoto, noting Ryuji’s absence. “Aren’t you missing a bodyguard?”

“Gettin’ food,” Akira murmurs.

Futaba cocks her head to the side, her eyes glittering at the opportunity to learn. “What kind of food?” She produces a quill pen from seemingly nowhere, her hand posed over a page.

Akira rattles off his favorite foods to eat when sick, all of which Futaba notates with fervor. He can tell when things get hazy again, because his mumbling is so bad that even Futaba can’t parse out what he’s saying.

For some reason, she’s the best at understanding him when his voice gets soft. Personally, he likes to think the archives are super quiet, so she’s really good about talking and listening in nothing but whispers, but since he’s never been, he can’t be sure.

All the while Ann is working on healing him. He really wishes he could keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, because he’s only able to catch glimpses of her pulling out an assortment of vials and stones and leaves with no idea what she plans to do with them.

“This should help with the pain,” she says. She removes the washcloth and smears something that smells like pine over his forehead.

It barely touches his forehead before his skin starts to tingle and burn, but it’s a heat he leans into, somehow equal parts warm and cool. Like a fresh breeze in the summer sun. The aches in his back and shoulders dissolve, and he melts over Haru’s lap, sinking back into his mattress.

“He’ll need lots of sleep,” Futaba says. She’s pitched her voice down to an overly dramatic whisper that Akira has to fight to keep himself from grinning about. If that’s how she whispers in the archives, then it’s probably _never_ quiet down there!

“I’m not going anywhere,” Haru says simply.

“But, Your Highness,” Makoto says, trying to tamp down the urgency in her tone. “The _court_ —”

“The court can wait until my baby is feeling better.” Her voice carries such conviction it leaves no room for argument.

This time, Akria can’t help grinning. Haru never talks to _him_ like that. Probably because he’s special. She likes him the best so he can stop court proceedings if he wants to.

Ann gasps softly. “There’s a smile!”

Haru coos, combing a hand through his hair. Whatever Ann applied to his forehead is still wet, causing her to smear the cooling remedy onto the other fevered parts of his forehead. “Do you like when I get bossy?” Something passes over her face, and through the haze of fever, she looks unbelievably fond.

Ryuji returns later with the requested ginger ale and crackers, but Akira’s only able to have a little before sleep calls to him.

“Stay?” he asks, looking around the room so they know he’s not just talking to Haru. They usually leave not long after he falls asleep, after all. Something about the way he sleeps fascinates them, but they know it makes him uncomfortable to be watched like that.

Today, though, he wouldn’t mind too much. He’s too tired to sleep as lightly as he usually does, and he feels too sick to want to be alone.

So he lets the soft snatches of conversation float over him, the words too soft for him to understand them, and lets the familiar presence of those he loves lull him back into a restful sleep.

The following morning, the café remains closed, but he does leave a manila envelope pinned under the closed sign.

The words “For Haru, Ryuji, and Makoto” are written in Akira’s neat handwriting and inside are the requested “portraits,” held together with a paper clip and a single note.

_As per our deal. Thank you for taking care of me._

__

**Author's Note:**

> *finds out you can put images in fics*  
> *immediately starts goofing around with it*
> 
> mcschnuggles.tumblr.com


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